


Strength of Mind

by RavenHairedPrincess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Elements of mystery, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Mind Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, good/bad Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenHairedPrincess/pseuds/RavenHairedPrincess
Summary: Hermione wakes up imprisoned during the war. Voldemort uses Slytherin tactics to manipulate her into giving him what he wants.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is most likely going to be a shorter fiction. We'll see!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***! SPECIAL WARNING !***  
> Snape is the "biggest" mystery in the story, so for that reason I cannot say or tag if he is good or bad, lives or dies, or if he saves Hermione or not. I also cannot say if his past (some or all of it) is cannon or not. The underage warning is just in case because her age is a bit ambiguous, and it depends on the laws where you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing recognizable in this fiction. All Harry Potter references are a credit to J. K. Rowling

Hermione hugged Harry and Ron as the Hogwarts Express pulled up to platform 9 ¾. “Remember. You promised you’d write me back,” she said in a stern voice to her best friends. “I’ll be joining you at the Burrow in two weeks, but with everything that’s happening we’ve got to stay in touch.”

“Of course,” Harry replied. “Stay safe, okay?” 

She had to fight back tears as she looked at her friend who was grieving the loss of Albus Dumbledore, his mentor. Hermione nodded and picked up her bag. Shaking away all thoughts of the tragic end to their sixth year, Hermione made her way off the train to her eagerly awaiting parents.


	2. Captured

“You’re out of places to run now, you little mudblood bitch,” panted a gruff voice while another set of winded lungs caught up to him. 

“Don’t let her get away this time you fool!” the other man barked. 

Frightened, Hermione struggled to break free of the strangers grasp but was struck bluntly. Everything went black. She knew she must be having a nightmare. Bright spots flashed before her eyes. She was being pushed and pulled, dragged along endlessly. Muffled voices were ringing in her ears. Wake up, she told herself. Wake up. Unsure how long she had been violently thrashing about in her bed, she tried to yell, scream, anything to wake herself up. No noise came out. Her throat was dry and scratchy. Hermione wondered if she had already screamed herself horse but doubted it. Surely, her parents would have woken her. The throbbing in her head was growing, but her body seemed to stop moving just after a sharp pain shot through her left knee. 

“Open your eyes,” something commanded.

Yes, she thought, wake up. Let this be over. Her eyes fluttered, and all she could make out were two red slits. Images flickered rapidly before her, around her, and within her, causing her breath to catch in her throat. Hermione didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry as memory after memory went by. She saw her 9th birthday, being sorted into Gryffindor, storming out of divination, emerging from the black lake with Victor, overhearing Sirius arguing with Professor Snape, and sitting next to Harry at Dumbledore’s funeral. 

Having her life flash before her eyes in such a way, she wondered if perhaps she was dying, but before she could decide, everything went black again. Panic welled in her chest when next she opened her eyes to yet more blackness. Blind. I’m blind, she worried. She made to stand, but fell hard onto a solid floor. Crying out into the darkness, she felt around her, fumbling to grasp onto something, anything. The sound of approaching footsteps made her reach for her wand. To her horror, it was nowhere to be found. She was afraid and helpless. Neither of those things was she accustomed to.

“Tell him to sod off. Will you?” sounded a male voice. Light beamed in as a door creaked open off to her left. 

Any relief that she was not blind was quickly overpowered by a sense of fear. The man in the doorway was clad in black robes and wore a shiny silver mask, a death eater mask. “Stay away from me,” rasped, her throat painfully pulling at its own tissue. The metallic taste in her mouth told her that she’d been injured recently enough to still be bleeding.

“Now, now,” the man chided, “I’ve only come to bring you food.” The hooded figure stepped further into the room and gracelessly tossed a tray onto a small tattered table. “I was going to turn on a light for you, but seeing as you’ve been so rude…” he trailed off retreating to the door.

“Wait!” Hermione cried desperately. “Please,” she pleaded looking around the room, which contained one rickety single cot, a small table and chair, and one open doorway. Gods, she hoped it was a bathroom. The walls and floor were filthy. Everything was filthy, and she had a feeling she was too.

The man chuckled cruelly, “Better get used to begging, Mudblood.” He flicked his wand at the wall and a single candle lit. “Next time, you’ll have to do better than that. And I suggest you make those scraps last.” With that, he slammed the door shut, and she could see the seal glow around it. As glad as she was he’d left, she was just as heartbroken about being trapped in this…this place.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that she was still alive and took a better look at the room she was in. There were no windows, no books, no anything really. Peering around the open doorway, she grimaced at the filthy bathroom. How did I get here, she asked herself, and where exactly is here, anyway? Looking into the dingy mirror, she cringed at the blood stain under her nose that appeared to still be drying. That might explain the taste of blood in her mouth. She looked like shit. Her hair was a tangled mess, and there were bits of twigs and leaves in it for some unknown reason. She looked thin and somewhat gaunt compared to when she’d fallen asleep. They must have really done a number on her. The faucet knobs were creaky, and only murky, cold water seemed to want to come out. After washing the partially dried blood off as best she could, she noticed she was wearing an excessively large, faded black shirt that came down to mid thigh. At least she still had her own underwear on. 

The realization that some creepy death eater had disrobed her made her stomach turn. Hermione glanced at the tray on the small table as she came out of the bathroom. She shook her head and sat back down on the creaky cot which was fixed with only an itchy wool blanket. Hours passed as she racked her mind trying to figure out what was going on. She concluded that death eaters must have snatched her up in the night, but that thought made her sick with worry for her parents. What had they done to them? Where they still alive? Had they gone out and attacked the others as well?

Hunger pains gnawed at her, but Hermione was determined not to give in. She had eaten a hearty dinner. There was no reason for her to feel so ravenous. Having no choice, she had to break her resolve and drink the water, if it could even be called that, out of the tap. With no way to tell the time in days or hours, she paced her room to the point of exhaustion looking for answers every time she woke.


	3. The Visitor

Hermione lay on the cot staring at the dimly lit stone ceiling above her as she thought about Ron and Harry. She was hopeful yet worried that they may be looking for her. Not due at the burrow for maybe a week, she supposed, they probably didn’t know she was missing yet. Once they figured it out, would they have any idea where to start looking? She didn’t even know where she was, after all. The hunger pains had subsided, but they were unfortunately replaced by dizziness and waves of nausea. That could be the sketchy water from the bathroom sink, she mused. The seal around the door suddenly glowed, and it startled her. She scooted back up on the bed, knees tucked into her chest. She wasn’t stupid. It was likely that she would be tortured sooner or later. 

A figure in death eater garb swiftly entered the room and sealed the door behind him. Hermione was frightened being so defenseless. Being locked inside this cell was not something she wanted. “Leave me alone,” she stated sounding far braver than she felt. The figure stood there looking at her for a moment, before walking over to the wooden chair. She watched warily as he picked it up and brought it next to the bed. Hermione balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. The man quietly sat in the chair and looked at her through his mask, the nameless faceless coward. The dark eyes roaming over her trembling body made her skin crawl. Suddenly self-conscious about her lack of proper attire, she pulled the blanket up over her knees. This was the first time she had a good look at one of their masks. It was beautiful, if she were honest. Swirling patterns were etched flawlessly into the silver face. It was likely real silver too. 

Hermione flinched as the man lifted his hand. To her surprise, he slowed his movements in response. A long, black gloved hand came up to his mask and slowly lowered it. She took in a sharp breath as she registered the face in front of her. Her mind was reeling as the man sat the mask down on the ground next to the chair. He was absolutely the last person she wanted to see. The wounds were too raw, too deep. He had singlehandedly hoodwinked the entire population of Hogwarts. He was a traitor: he was a murderer. She had trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust. He had left her devastated.

“What do you want, Professor?” she bit out angrily, disrespect evident in her tone. Fury was bubbling up in her chest, and she wanted nothing more than to hex him, spit in his face.

He looked back at the door and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. After a few moments Snape said softly, quietly, “To help you.” 

“Liar,” she responded icily. He looked up into her eyes, but she did not see the anger she was expecting. He reached into the pocket of his outer robes and pulled out a tiny brown paper bag. “What is that?” she demanded. Snape withdrew his wand. Hermione curled further into herself, but he only engorged the bag to be about grocery packaging size. Hermione tried not to show her relief when he slid his wand back up his sleeve. Her eyes flickered from his pale face to the bag in both curiosity and a healthy amount of fear. 

“Items I’ve no doubt your host neglected to provide you with,” he said quietly as he tipped the bag over on its side, letting some of the contents spill out onto the bed at her feet. 

Hermione glanced at the items just long enough to register what they were. She did not want him to have any leverage over her, not matter what. Looking away from him with her chin up, she tried not to cry thinking of how nice it would be to have a toothbrush and a bar of soap, not to mention whatever else might be in the bag. “I’ve nothing to give you, so you may as well take your things, and get out.”

He let out a slight sigh and sat back in the chair. “I brought those for you. No strings,” he said turning his palms up. It was an honest gesture, not one that fit is history. He continued as he began stripping his gloves off, “I believe you do have something to give me, but not in exchange for those. It’s obvious we both want the same thing.”

“Go to hell,” she snapped kicking the bag off the bed and onto the ground. “I don’t need anything from you.” How dare he waltz in here and pretend to be on her side?

Ignoring her outburst he spoke softly, “We both want answers, Miss Granger. A question for a question, I propose. You may even go first.”

She scoffed, “So you think I’m going to tell you what you want to know, knowing that you’ll know if I’m lying, in order to get you to tell me what I want to know, knowing I’ve no way of knowing if you’re lying. What kind of idiot do you think I am? I know damn well you’re a legilimens.” She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest.

Snape shook his head as if having a hard time following her. “What if I turn around?” he offered tilting his head slightly. When she didn’t respond, he stood and turned the chair away from the bed. Sitting back down he encouraged, “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

Hermione’s desperation overrode her sense of caution, “Are my parents alive?”

“I don’t know,” he answered immediately.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? That’s not an answer, you bastard,” she said angrily.

He took a deep breath and replied, “A group of death eaters were sent to kill them months ago, but your home was vacant. They were nowhere to be found.”


	4. Slytherin Semantics

“That’s not possible,” she huffed in protest. She had just been with them, after all. Yes, she had plans to obliviate and relocate them, but the particulars hadn’t even been decided yet. Did he really expect her to believe her parents disappeared, and they had nothing to do with it?

He turned to face her and spoke quietly, “As soon as I heard, I went to your house to warn them, but there was no one there. I had assumed that you had moved them.” He sounded sincere, and it worried her. 

She knew Snape was an excellent liar; he fooled Dumbledore, of all people. It unnerved her somewhat that he seemed one step ahead of her. But she just couldn’t understand why he was telling her this particular lie, something she could easily refute with her very own memory. Was their plan to make her think she’d lost her mind?

“I believe it’s my turn, Miss Granger,” he reminded her as he turned his back on her once again. “What is the last thing you remember before being brought here?”

Not wanting to answer him, she was quiet for a minute deliberating the question. It did seem innocuous enough, and if she answered, she’d be able to ask another question. Perhaps one more question might give her a better understanding of how he was trying to manipulate her. “I was out for a jog,” she stated flatly. As vague as it was, it was the truth. 

“You were out for a jog?” he repeated incredulously.

“Yes. I was running,” she defended herself. 

“Ah. I have no doubt you were running, but I assure you, you were not out for a jog. You were running from snatchers, Miss Granger,” he said sounding more amused than she would have liked. Clearly he thought this was all very funny. 

“Snatchers?” she repeated. “If you’re going to start talking nonsense, I’m out. I’d rather be left to my thoughts.” 

His shoulders slumped slightly as he explained, “Snatchers are little more than thugs hired by the Dark Lord to collect muggleborns and blood traitors for the Dark Lord’s…disposal.” 

“Speaking of traitors,” she snapped hoping her words stung. It wasn’t likely, though. What did he care if they all felt betrayed?

“Yes, well. I believe it’s your turn,” he said sitting stiffly on the chair. 

She regarded him slowly, as if she were looking for something. There he was with his back to her, as if he trusted her. He had a wand of course, but it was still a vulnerable position. Then again, he had always underestimated her, refused to acknowledge her capabilities. She just couldn’t wrap her mind around how odd this all was. “Did you murder Dumbledore?”  
“No,” he answered automatically. Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course she did not believe him. “You doubt Mr. Potter.” he said skeptically. He sounded genuinely surprised. 

“NO. I just wanted to know if you’d admit to killing him,” she retorted obviously disappointed.

“I do admit it,” he said quietly.

Shocked, Hermione stared at the back of his head for a solid minute before speaking, “I was doing just fine be driven mad with my own thoughts before you walked in. I don’t need you to speed up the process. Is that why you’re here, to play twisted mind games with me?”

Snape turned his head slightly but stopped. “No, Miss Granger. I have no intention of playing mind games with you. I killed Dumbledore,” he told her sounding resign. He took a deep breath and righted himself once again, “It’s my turn.”

Hermione’s mind was spinning. She still wasn’t sure what he was playing at. Was he trying to confuse her to trip her up? Was he ashamed? Her thoughts were interrupted by his deep voice.

“What is the last thing you remember before running?” he asked as if he had all his questions ready. 

“Meeting my parents on platform 9 ¾ after returning home from Hogwarts,” she answered simply. “Where am I?”

“In a prison cell the Dark Lord himself created in the cellar of Malfoy Manor,” he replied more assuredly than she had expected. “How much to you know about memory charms?” he asked.

His answer seemed logical enough. In fact, it was the first logical thing he had told her. Memory charms? Was this about her parents, she wondered. “Enough,” was all she offered him.

“Last question’s yours, Miss Granger,” he stated meekly. He stood up and started putting his gloves back on. 

“Will you be back?” she asked without giving it much thought. As little as she trusted him, his confusing presence was better than the mind numbing solitude that was surely driving her mad, in spite of what she had said to him. Perhaps that opinion in and of itself was proof that she was already loosing it.

“Yes. I’ll return tomorrow evening. Oh, I almost forgot,” he said reaching into his pocket, “Something to help you pass the time.” He tossed a clear ball onto the cot at her feet and picked his mask up off the floor. He was out the door before she could even think to thank him for what he had brought her. Picking up the ball, she realized what it was as soon as it started to fill with red vapor. 

Hermione set the remembrall down on the bed and picked the bag up off of the floor along with the items that had fallen out of it. She arranged the items neatly on the bed: a toothbrush, toothpaste, a plastic comb, a bar of soap, and something wrapped in foil. She peeled the foil back cautiously and nearly wept when her eyes fell on a turkey sandwich stuffed with lettuce and tomato. No longer caring about being poisoned, she dove into the much need nutrition. Brushing her teeth afterwards felt like a luxury, and she was grateful for the ability, even if the water was disgusting. Feeling full for the first time in what seemed like many days, she dozed off.


	5. Hermione's Keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Non con in this chapter.

Where were her parents? Were they alive? If they were already dead, he could be lying just to get her to cooperate with them. He could easily say Voldemort had them and was torturing them to get to her, not that she even knew what they wanted from her. She had been completely selfish. She should have asked about Ron and Harry, not that Snape would have told her the truth. 

Hermione examined every inch of the room looking for something, anything that would help her escape. Some of the grout between the bricks was crumbling away, but she was unable to do anything more than tear up her skin trying to pick at it. Twice, her hand slipped while using the back end of her toothbrush to pick at it, leaving a few of her knuckles torn and bloody. She spend a good amount of time with her ear pressed to the door listening for any sign of another human being, but it remained silent. There was either a silencing charm on the door, or the door was far removed from wherever they frequently passed by. 

Malfoy Manor, she repeated to herself over and over. Lucius Malfoy had caused a great deal of problems for her and the boys in the past. His son was no picnic either, but she wondered if he even knew she was down there. She wasn’t sure she believe him capable of being cruel enough to let her rot in this cell.

Why did they have to send Snape, of all people? She had been crushed to learn that he had turned on them, even more so than the others had been. Hermione looked up to him, in spite of the way her treated her. He was valuable to her as a teacher if nothing else. Professor Snape was brilliant, and there was a lot more she could have learned from him. 

It was so unfair. He’d come in here and spoken to her with more respect than he ever had. Why? She was suspicious. There had to be a reason they sent him in to interrogate her. Maybe they were using him simply because they knew each other. Did they not know how awful he’d been to her?

She had slept and woken since he left; although, she had no idea how long ago that was. It could have been hours. Any more than a day and she would be feeling that sickening hunger again. Just wanting the time to pass, she lay back down on the cot and closed her eyes. 

Hermione woke with a start as the door to her room clicked shut. Still feeling groggy, she rubbed her eyes and yawned as she sat up. Briefly, she wondered if she had been asleep all day, but her stomach clenched at the sound of the man’s voice. It wasn’t Snape’s.

“I’ve been sent to check on you,” he said walking up to the foot of the cot. He stood there towering over her, as if trying to be more intimidating. He looked down at her with his nose in the air, much like Lucius Malfoy had always looked at her. 

“I’m alive, as you can see,” Hermione replied tersely. His eyes graze over the bag sitting next to her on the bed, and she decided it was best not to say anything when he reached for it. The masked man shook the contents of the bag around while he peered inside. Sure he would take the items from her, she pretended not to care. She wasn’t about to give him that leverage. 

“I know there is only one other person who’s been allowed in here to see you. Tell me,” he said darkly. “What did he make you do for all of this?” He reached out headless of her obvious reproach. Placing his hand on her thigh, he told her, “It wouldn’t be fair if he got to have all the fun. Now, would it?” 

“You’re sick! Stay away from me you bastard,” she protested kicking at his arm. The man pounced on her, and she screamed out as he pinned her arms over her head. He smelled of cheap whiskey, which made her want to hurl. After she unsuccessfully tried to knee him in the groin, he knelt on her thigh trapping her painfully. Tears streamed down her cheeks as he magically bound her wrists to the metal headboard. Feeling the man’s filthy hands run down her body to the hem of her shirt, she wiggled uselessly against his imposing form. Calloused hands scratched at her delicate skin as they made their way up to her breasts. 

Hermione cried out as he pinched her nipples painfully. “Please,” she begged, “Please stop.”

The man’s hand was on her throat squeezing firmly enough to get her attention. “Stop struggling. Do as I say, and I won’t have to hurt you. I’d rather we be friends. What do you say, hmm? Am I going to have to hurt you? Petrify you, perhaps?” the man hidden behind the mask whispered.

“No. Please,” she cried shaking her head profusely. “I’ll be good. I swear.” As terrified as she was, she knew being petrified would be worse. She worried she would never wake up. The fact that she had no idea who this man was, nor would she ever, made her all the more frightened. 

“Good,” the man said, obviously pleased with himself. He released her throat and scooted his knees up until he was kneeling over her abdomen. “Now I want you to show me,” he cooed lecherously as he unbuttoned his trousers, “what you did to deserve such gifts from my friend. Show me what a good little whore you can be.” The man pulled out his penis and let it bob tauntingly in front of her face. “Bite me, and I’ll kill you…slowly. Understand?” he spat at her.

Hermione wasn’t sure if she should be hoping Snape would arrive, but she was. She was hoping for anything to stop this foul man from touching her. Why hadn’t Snape shown up yet? Did he know this man was in here with her? Would he be holding her down for him if he were here? She wanted to imagine he wouldn’t.

Terrified and repulsed at the man’s red weeping member bouncing near her chin, she took a shaky breath and nodded. Tears leaked down her face as he grabbed her roughly by the back of the neck causing her lips to touch the wet tip of his penis.


	6. The Return Of The Prince

After heaving and brushing her teeth over and over again, Hermione conceded that she wasn’t going to get the taste of that foul man out of her mouth. Snape hadn’t come to rescue her, not that she was surprised by that. He had told her he was going to be back the next day. He’d lied, obviously. It wasn’t like she had made the mistake of thinking she could trust him anyway. Exhausted, she curled up on the cot and tried to imagine being somewhere else. She wanted to cry, but no tears came out. Eventually, sleep overtook her.

The sound of the door shutting startled her awake. She shrieked and fell from the cot, scurrying across the floor into the corner of the room. No, no, no, she thought as she covered her ears and shut her eyes tightly. A gloved hand pulled at her wrist, and she shook her head, “Please,” she begged. “Please, just leave me alone.”

“Miss Granger,” the baritone voice vibrated through her. Looking up into the dark eyes of Severus Snape had never, ever been a relief, but it was in that moment. “Are you alright?” he asked. He actually looked concerned.

“I thought,” she hesitated, “you were him again.” Nervously chewing on her lip, she realized how silly she must look having a fit on the floor. Not that she gave a damn what he thought of her because she didn’t. 

“Him who?” Snape asked furrowing his brow, as if he didn’t know. There were only two of them according to that piece of shit that had come in here last. 

Hermione snapped, “I don’t know! I don’t know because all you bloody cowards wear masks!” She curled back in on herself fearing he would retaliate, but he only let go of her wrist and stood up straight. Hermione was surprised to see his hand extend down in invitation to help her up off of the floor. Accepting his help, she got to her feet and walked over to the cot. She sat and watched him bring the chair back over just as he had done before. “So,” she said quietly, “back for another round of twenty questions?” Why else would he be here, she questioned. 

“Something like that,” he replied as he nodded and clasped his hands in his lap. 

“You said you’d be back,” she reminded him. “Where were you?”

He looked at her with an unreadable expression. “I came back just as I said I would. It’s been,” he paused looking up. “Twenty-three hours since I was here last.”

His shift away from his usual intimidating demeanor made her wariness of his intentions spring back to the forefront. She was suspicious from the beginning that he was playing her, but she still didn’t know why. “Where are Harry and Ron?” She had been dying to know that they were both alright, but the thought of losing her parents dominated her emotions the last time Snape had visited. It didn’t stop her from feeling guilty about not asking about them, though. 

He leaned back slightly and said, “They have been on the run for several months. They have been spotted intermittently, but they have not yet been captured.”

Hermione shook her head. “No,” she stated flatly. “That’s not possible. I saw them just days ago.” He was playing with her mind again. On the run for months? Was he mad?

“Yes, you were with them,” he agreed, “but not when you think.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense!” she protested. Whatever Voldemort had done to him, it wasn’t for the better. He’d gone yampy, and he was one of the most intelligent people she knew, not that she would ever admit to that now. 

Snape held up a hand to silence her. “My turn, Miss Granger.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat, but he paid no attention to her annoyance. Unintentionally, she’d reverted to responding to him as her professor. She’d granted him a level of respect he didn’t deserve, and that irritated her even more. “What would you guess as today’s date?”

She rolled her eyes at him. Why the odd questions? “I suppose it is June 6, 1997. Why?”

“Because it is now March 30, 1998, Miss Granger,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if he had not just said something completely preposterous. 

Hermione snorted, “I don’t believe you.” She watched him pull a daily post from his robes and set in on the bed in front of her. She glanced down to read the date that he had just told her. What a horrid trick! She wasn’t going to fall for it. “It’s a fake. You’ll have to do better than that to make me believe that I’ve somehow lost almost a year of my life.”

She cut him off before he could respond. “Ginny, is she okay? Where is she?” she asked. 

Snape nodded as he said, “Ms. Weasley is at Hogwarts with the rest of your peers. They are getting by. I am their current Headmaster.” 

Hermione gaped at him. It was an outrage. It was a lie, she reminded herself. He’d look a bit happier if he really were the Headmaster. 

“Hypothetically, if I were correct about the date, what are the possible explanations as to why you think we almost a year in the past?”

She loved a challenge, and he knew it. Hermione tried to mute the intellectual spark he had set off, fearing it would give him the upper hand. They sat quietly for a moment before she gave in. “A coma, a time turner that works in a way I understand them not to be able to, or…” she paused and looked at him. He nodded encouragingly, and she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. “Obliviation.” There was no way any of those things had happened. No way!

He hummed in apparent approval of her answer, something she was unused to. Too bad it wasn’t over an answer in class or an essay question on a test. “So you expect me to believe that I’ve had the last nine months of my life obliviated from my mind?” She shook her head again. “Ok, so hypothetically, what is it that I was doing before I was captured? Why did your death eater friends obliviate me? Don’t you think it would make more sense to use legilimency on me?” She had him there. Why the hell would they obliviate her? Perhaps they saw what they needed and erased it from her mind, so she was unable to help Harry. But then, why was Snape here trying to explain to her that she’d lost memories? None of it made any sense.


	7. Slytherin Resources

“You were in the woods with Misters Potter and Weasley when you were discovered by snatchers. They were able to get away, but you were caught. Your memories of the last ten months were already missing when you were brought here,” he answered her simply. “Who do you suppose obliviated you in this scenario?”

“I-,” she began but fell short. “Well, I suppose I could eliminate Harry and Ron, as they are rubbish with charms. There are the ‘snatchers’ of course, but that may be giving them too much credit. You could be lying, and it WAS a death eater, OR you could be lying about all of it.” Satisfied with her answer, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall. 

Snape hung his head and picked at one of his finger nails. “I believe you’ve forgotten someone,” he stated quietly. He looked up into her eyes waiting for his words to sink in.

Hermione looked at him in confusion for several long seconds. Does he mean he was he was the one who obliviated her? Was he there? No, that’s not right. Who else could he be referring to? Just her. She could have done it, she realized. “But why?” she nearly shouted at him. “Why would you think I would do something so incredibly foolish as to cast a memory charm on myself? I know you think I have an inflated ego and an unrealistic sense of my own abilities, but seriously, Professor?” She felt offended that he thought her so reckless and with her own mind, one she has worked tirelessly to cram every bit of knowledge into.

“I image you would only do such a thing if you thought you had no other choice, Miss Granger,” he answered.

He was lying. He had to be. “Why wouldn’t I just disapparate, then?”

One eye brow ticked upward. “You lost your wand when you were disarmed,” he explained.

“But if I lost my wand, how would I have obliviated myself?” she argued. 

“Did you never perform magic as a child without a wand?” he questioned. 

Hermione was getting irritated. This conversation was becoming ridiculous. “That’s different. It’s one thing to move a book. It’s a whole other thing to perform a complex spell…and on myself? You’re mad.”

“The Dark Lord agrees with you. He too thinks you’re not capable of such a thing,” he told her. 

What was he saying? Hermione stared at him as he held his hand out. What did he want from her, she wondered. None of this seemed like anything that would help them. The foil from the sandwich he’d brought her before came up out of the bag and hovered above it before slowly making its way to hover over his open palm. He held her eyes as he manipulated the foil without using his wand.

The foil unfolded and transformed into an origami flower and then a dragon. So what, she thought. That didn’t prove his point at all. Hermione pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. The foil unfolded again and reformed itself into a solid tin cup. Transfiguration wasn’t something she had ever expected to see someone perform without a wand. McGonagall had never showed them that. She eyed the cup, and her mouth fell open as it began to fill with water. 

Snape held his other hand up, and the cup slowly tipped over and poured the water out. It floated above his other hand, taking an organic shape, shifting and changing in the air. She looked at him finally, but he was watching the water intently. It started to stretch and within seconds it took the shape of a mermaid swimming about, hair flowing behind her. Hermione looked at it in awe. She couldn’t help it. Snape pulled his hands away, and as he looked back up at her, the water fell to the floor splashing and splattering about. 

So what. Snape was a powerful wizard. She already knew that. “Well that’s a lovely talent you have, but I’ve never even practiced wandless magic,” she told him.

“Just because something is hard, doesn’t mean it’s impossible. All it takes is focus and determination. I’ve no doubt you’re capable of those things,” he admitted. Hell had frozen over. That was the only logical explanation for what was going on. “I think you knew you had no way out, and you did the only thing that-” Snape stopped abruptly and leaned forward toward her. “Where did this come from?” he demanded while reaching out to her leg.

A split second of panic came over her as he moved to touch her. Her legs were mostly bare, save for the shirt that hung loosely on her. The bruise. He saw the bruise the other man gave her when he leaned all his weight on her thigh with his bony knee. She cringed at the memory and curled inward. “Don’t. It’s nothing.” 

As she pulled her blanket over to cover her exposed legs, Snape grabbed the it firmly but spoke softly, “Let me see. Please.” 

Hermione stopped. Unsure of whether it was the tone he used or the fact that he had said please for the first time she could ever remember, she lowered the blanket and scooted forward on the bed until her feet were touching the ground. Hermione parted her legs just enough for him to see. She closed her eyes as he leaned forward again. Hermione inhaled sharply as something cold and wet touched her leg. Opening her eyes, she saw his slender fingers gently working a general healing paste, judging by the minty smell, into her thigh. 

Her mind was spinning once again. Why was he being nice to her? If he was telling her the truth, then she really didn’t have anything to tell him, as she had erased it all from her mind. “Why on earth did he pick you to be the good cop?” she asked with a mirthless laugh.

He withdrew his hand and Hermione thought she saw a flicker of something resembling sadness cross his face. Was it sadness, remorse, worry, something else? After clearing his throat he answered, “I believe the Dark Lord saw something in your mind he means to exploit.” He looked away from her then.

Why was Snape being evasive? “What exactly did he see?” she demanded. She wasn’t about to let him get away with the old Dumbledore trick of sharing bits and pieces that left one guessing. She wanted answers damn it! “What, Professor?”

He looked back at her with a blank expression and spoke bluntly, “Me.” 

She looked at him, mouth gaping ready for a preemptive protest of whatever answer he was about to give her. She felt as if her heart had plummeted into her stomach. Yes, she had always held him in high regard, until the end of last year of course. Her fifth year brought a highly annoying interest in him. A curiosity, she labeled it. She told herself it had been because of the order meetings and that she had seen him outside of his role as her professor. She thought it was a passing phase; she thought it had been buried. She had never intended on sharing it with anyone. She hadn’t even wanted to think further on it herself. Her mind whirled with memories of catching herself watching him, and forcing herself back on task. She was and had always been in control of her mind and her feelings, damn it. She did not, had not fancy him, not in any significant way. That is what she had told herself.

Yet, it had been scattered around enough in her mind and in her memories for Voldemort to have picked up on in. Hermione suddenly felt sick. She didn’t know what to say or if she should say anything at all. That might only make it worse, she mused. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and pulled her blanked around her. “I think I’ve had enough for today, Professor.”


	8. An Impossible Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot becomes a little clearer.

March 27th, 1998

“Hermione Granger was apprehended late last night. When she arrived, she was missing all her memories of the last ten months. Potter must have obliviated her. Do you know what that means, Severus?” the Dark Lord asked.

“No, My Lord,” he responded.

“It means that Potter was afraid of what I would find in her mind. It means she knows the key to destroying him. She knows all of his plans,” he explained. “I require her memories to be restored,” Voldemort stated.

Snape asked, “How might that be done, My Lord? I know of no way to restore obliviated memories.”

Voldemort handed Snape a tattered old tome. It was open to a page containing information on a potion which required an impossible agent to obtain. In order to activate the process of the potion in restoring memories, the drinker had to desire their memories be returned. Even then, it was only rumored to have worked a few times throughout wizarding history. There had been so many failed attempts and no proof of it working, that it was deemed useless, yet Voldemort expected him to be able to produce results with it. He was fucked. Royally fucked. 

“I trust you can brew this,” Voldemort stated. 

“Yes, My Lord. I can brew anything, but how do you plan on convincing her to want her memories back?” Snape shook his head. “Torture won’t work, My Lord. It may make her cooperate, but it won’t give her the required desire. She cannot be forced into wanting them back, and without her desire, the potion is guaranteed to be ineffective.”

Voldemort smiled at him. It was a frightening sight. “I’m aware of that, Severus. My plan is to have you persuade her.”

Fuck. He was so fucked. “My Lord,” Snape stated with obvious doubt, “I’m afraid the girl detests me. She’s not going to want to cooperate with me. Perhaps someone else-”

“You’re wrong. She has always looked up to you, respected you, admired you. The girl fancied you even,” he laughed. “Were you aware of that?” he asked but didn’t give Snape time to respond in the negative. “She wants to be able to trust you. You will gain her trust; you will seduce her. Do whatever it takes to get her to want her memories back. Get her to want to share them with you. Convince her you want to help her and Potter.”

Snape felt sick. He wondered if he looked a bit green. He certainly felt it. This was surely going to lead to his death. He was going to fail, and the Dark Lord would dispose of him. The task was impossible. Even if he could…get her to cooperate, the potion was going to fail. “Yes, My Lord,” Snape agreed to the task set before him, not that he had any choice. 

“Wait a few days. Let her get settled in. Let her figure out she’s not going anywhere before you pay her a visit,” Voldemort instructed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

April 1st, 1998

Hermione couldn’t get her conversation with Snape off of her mind. She felt sick knowing he knew about her foolish, youthful crush on him. It was no secret that he hated her, and there was nothing more humiliating than him knowing she’d thought of him that way at one point. He said Voldemort meant to use that information to get what he wanted, which left her even more confused. It left her with more questions than answers. One: what did Voldemort want from her? Two: was Snape being nice to her part of their plan of attack? Three: why would he tell her they planned to use that information against her? 

There was no logical explanation as to why Snape would tell her Voldemort wanted to use her past feelings for him against her, outside of just trying to humiliate her further. Even then, she would have expected him to come in and sneer at her, telling her how much he loathed the thought of her. If Snape was telling her the truth, which she highly doubted, Voldemort had ordered him to…to what? Bring back her adolescent crush on him, so she would be more easily manipulated? Gods, the thought made her sick. 

Hermione snorted, laughing to herself as she imagined Voldemort telling Snape she had fancied him once. He must have been appalled. And now he was making Snape be nice to her. Struck with a sudden fit of laughter, Hermione doubled over clutching her side. 

The door opened suddenly, and that man appeared. “I see you’ve gone mad,” he remarked as he dropped a try of food down on the table. He left without saying another word. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, she left her cowering position against the wall by her bed to inspect what he had brought her. A sad looking bowl of stew sat on the table. She doubted that they had been trying to poison her because what use would she be then? What use was she now? She settled on taking the dinner roll and going back to the cot with it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

April 2nd, 1998

Snape arrived at Malfoy Manor late Thursday evening. He took his seat near the head of the table and waited for Voldemort to address them. 

“Severus, I trust you’ve begun to execute my plan,” Voldemort said looking to the man on his left side. 

“Yes, My Lord, but I’ve come across an obstacle I didn’t foresee,” Snape said.

“And what’s that?” he asked looking displeased.

“McNair has been messing with the girl. It’s not going to make it easier for me to gain her trust,” Snape explained, “if she thinks I’m neglecting to stop him from hurting her.”

“Actually, Snape, the worse I look, the better it makes you look, and you could use a little help in that department. You should be thanking me for doing the dirty work, and dirty is exactly what she is.”

Voldemort held up a hand to the two arguing men, and announced, “You both have valid points. Severus, let her know you’re trying to stop Walden from taking advantage of her. I don’t want you to be successful just yet, though. I would prefer Walden break her down a little more before you come to her rescue. That’s the best way to use the situation to our advantage.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Snape said as he cast a sideways glance at McNair who was far too satisfied with his task of breaking the girl.


	9. An Artful Approach

Hermione was pacing along the back wall when the door opened. She stood unmoving as the man shut the door behind him and resealed it. Good cop or bad cop, she wondered as she stared the man down. He hadn’t moved further into the room yet, and that made her suspicious of what his intentions were, whoever he was. 

The man removed his mask revealing his identity. Snape. Again. Hermione sighed. “What do you want?” She was relieved that it was him, but she sure as hell didn’t want him to know that.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Snape said. Pulling a bag out of his coat pocket, he moved over to the table and sat down. Snape drew his wand from his sleeve. Conjuring a second chair, he said, “Please,” indicating he wanted her to sit. 

The brown paper bag most likely had food in it. Perhaps that was just wishful thinking on her part. She hadn’t eaten much since the sandwich he had brought her. Hermione wasn’t even sure how long ago that was. “What day is it?” she asked as she sat down across from him. 

“Thursday, April 2, 1998,” he answered as he restored the bag and its contents to their proper size. He pulled out several things: a mug with a lid on it, a set of silverware, a dinner roll, and a thermos. Snape took the lid off of the large mug, and steam immediately rose into the air, filling the room with a savory aroma that made her stomach rumble. “Soup,” he said as he pushed it toward her along with a spoon and the roll.

Hermione looked down into the tortellini and vegetables swimming around in the cup and was incredibly grateful the elves were employed at Hogwarts. After the first several spoonfuls, she noticed Snape was watching her intently. “Can you not stare at me, please?” she asked. “It’s rude.” Hermione looked at him with a scowl, but he reached into his pocket and set two phials on the table without looking away from her. “What are those?”

“Contraceptives,” he stated.

The blue one must be the six month variety, and the pink was most likely the wizarding version of the morning after pill. “Thank you,” she said looking back at her food.

“I’ll see what I can do about getting your guard changed,” he said while folding his hands in front of him on the table. 

“Why do you even care?” she asked. 

“I am still loyal to the order, in spite of what you may believe,” he said quietly. 

Hermione set her spoon down in the cup, the metal clinking on the glass. “So you killed Dumbledore…for the order?” she said in mocking disbelief. Hermione shook her head and picked her spoon back up. “In spite of what you may believe, I’m not stupid.” 

“I had to kill him,” he said a bit tersely. Snape smoothed his robes down his chest to compose himself. “I had no choice in the matter. The old fool sacrificed himself. The ultimate act of Gryffindor martyrdom,” he said with a sour expression. 

“That’s ridiculous,” she stated while ripping the roll in half. It was far too absurd to be true, no matter how much she wished it were. She would give anything to have an ally at this point, but her trust would be misplaced in him. 

“Is it?” he questioned. “You don’t think Dumbledore was capable of that type of manipulation?” Hermione stared into her soup. She knew he had a point, but it didn’t prove Snape’s motives. “If you’re right, why didn’t I just kill you when you came to get me that night? Why didn’t I kill Potter? I had plenty of opportunities.” 

Hermione remained silent. He was going to have to do better than that. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought of all that herself. Dumbledore’s murder was just too damning. Picking up the thermos, she remained silent. It was filled with pumpkin juice, a luxury. If he thought she was going to help him convince her by explaining her position, he was deluded. 

“I knew Potter would assume the worst of me, but I had hoped that you would have given it a little more thought before writing me off as the bad guy…again,” he confessed sounding hurt. 

His tone sparked a feeling of guilt, even though she knew it was an act. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked angrily. “If you’re still working for the Order, and you really want to help, let me go.”

Snape said, “If I let you go, I’ll be killed. I won’t be able to help Potter if I’m dead,” he reasoned.

“Oh, and Dumbledore can?” she retorted. 

His mouth snapped shut. She had him there, and they both knew it. “I have vital information I need to give Potter, Miss Granger. Without it, he doesn’t stand a chance against the Dark Lord.”

Hermione asked as she folded her arms over her chest, “Why didn’t Vol-” 

Snape hissed, “Do not say his name unless you want him to show up here!”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione asked, “Why didn’t he just kill me? Why lock me down here? What does he want from me?”

“He wants information on Potter, obviously,” he replied immediately. 

“He’s already been though my mind!” she pointed out. “What makes him think he’ll be able to get more out of me than what he’s already seen?”

Snape answered, “He thinks he can somehow access the memories you erased.”

“There is no way to restore obliviated memories,” she reminded him.

“Dark Lord mistakenly believes there is,” he told her. “You would be dead if he believed otherwise. “You and I both know I am bound to fail in obtaining your missing memories, and when I do, he’ll dispose of me, of both of us. Regardless of whose side you think I’m on, we are fighting the same fight, the fight to stay alive.” 

Fed up, she snapped, “And what am I supposed to do about it?” 

“For now, all we need to do is make him think I am making progress with you,” he explained calmly, contrasting greatly with her state of agitation.

As much as she didn’t trust him, his plan to fool Voldemort was intriguing. If he was telling her the truth, they were both completely screwed. The only thing they could do would be to buy time hoping everything would come to an end before they were killed. If he was lying, it was a strange lie, indeed. “And how would we do that?”

“You could stop pretending to hate me,” he threw out with a shrug as he leaned back in the chair. 

“Pretending?” she echoed. He sure did have a high opinion of himself.

He pursed his lips, obviously displeased. “Fine. You can start by pretending NOT to hate me then.”

“How does he think he’s going to be able to restore my memories exactly?” she asked. 

“He plans to use a potion that has no known history of being effective,” said Snape. “It requires your…cooperation. That’s why he thought I would be the best pick in convincing you.”

Like hell she was going to cooperate. “If it’s all true, why risk having this conversation with me? He can easily find it if he uses legilimency on me again.”

“He mostly likely won’t bother with you until I have restored your memories. He’s instructed me to do whatever it takes to get them, including tell you whatever lies you need to hear. He’ll see that I’m following his orders if he bothers to go out of his way,” he explained. 

Hermione stared at him blankly. Oh, that was clever, telling her they could manipulate Voldemort together as a means of manipulating her. “What proof is there that you’re not manipulating me?” 

“There isn’t any, and that is how it must be,” he responded definitely.


	10. Circumstantial Evidence

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” she replied sarcastically. 

“It’s necessary,” he corrected her. 

Hermione watched him thoughtfully as he sat there looking at his hands as they rested on the table between them. His fingers were long and thin, his nails short and clean. His dark hair and lashes were a heavy contrast to his light complexion. Her eyes fell on the sensually wide peaks of his upper lip, which were too often obscured by a sneer or a nasty comment occasionally thrown her way. Hermione returned her attention to her soup when he looked up and caught her staring at him. 

Snape stood and picked up his mask. “I’ll be back in two days,” he said. Hermione nodded, not at all looking forward to the long stretch of time until she saw him next. Hesitating at the door, he turned back to her. “You’re keeper- he’s not too bright, but he’s got a wicked temper. Try not to upset him. It will just be worse for you.” 

Hermione stared at the door as it shut tightly behind him. ‘Try not to upset him,’ she repeated with annoyance. As if she had tried before! Shit, she thought as she realized he’d left the bag, one just like the one that had been the other man’s excuse to use her, to abuse her. He had even insinuated that Snape had done similar things to her. The memory made her stomach turn. Frustrated, she swiped the bag to crumple it up, but it wasn’t empty. 

Looking down into the paper sack, Hermione was sure of one thing. Regardless of his motive, Snape was definitely trying to win her over. Two bananas, a bunch of celery, and…a jar of peanut butter sat on top of a book. Hermione took the book out and stashed the bag under her bed as far back as she could reach. What have we here, she wondered as she flipped the book over. Practical Instruction in the Application of Wandless Magic. There was a bookmark at the beginning of the first chapter. Why would he give this to her? Wouldn’t Voldemort be upset if he knew? The realization that the prejudice bastard likely thought she was not capable of using the book made her angry, even if it was to her advantage. Did Professor Snape think that as well, or did he think she was capable? 

Hermione sat on the bed and read through the first chapter on the theory of wandless magic, but her mind drifted to Snape. Did he understand that her interest in him had been a passing phase? It’s not like she harbored a secret crush on him throughout her school years. So what if she had taken notice of him during her fifth year? By the time she returned for her sixth year, she had gotten over it. She had. All of her attention was focused on Ron, even when Lavender had wiggled her way between them. She supposed that there must have been something Voldemort saw that he read too much into.

Maybe he saw her while she was trying to dodge McLaggen at Slughorn’s Christmas Party. She bumped in to Snape while he was apparently looking for Harry. He stood there in front of her for several seconds just looking at her. The insult she was waiting for never came. He was close enough that she could smell him, and she felt a blush creep up her chest unexpectedly. He turned and walked away from her swiftly without a single word.

Voldemort was making far too much out of it. Perhaps looking at her memories one right after another gave him a skewed perspective. He had likely seen her looking up at him in the great hall and watching him as he swept through the classroom between the rows of students while they were taking a test. Maybe he saw her stealing a glance or two in his direction while out at the quidditch pitch. She watched him in awe the day he saved Katie from that damn cursed necklace, but who wouldn’t have? 

Oh! The apparation lessons after winter break. Hermione failed at her first several attempts to apparate into her ring. Snape kept walking by her. It was distracting. Hermione’s first successful apparation landed her on the feet of a rather surprised-looking Professor Snape. His hands grabbed her shoulders trying to keep her from toppling over backwards. “Perhaps you should try apparating to a place where someone isn’t already standing, Miss Granger,” he said. She was sure she’d turned the most unflattering shade of red. Yep. He had to have seen that. It had been quite embarrassing. She wasn’t able to look at him for an entire week after that. It wasn’t like she could have justified it being an accident. Apparation took determination and deliberation, after all. That had been, hands down, the most embarrassing moment in her life. Gods, and what had he thought of her then? Surely he had to have known she was trying to apparate on top of him, even if she hadn’t thought she was actually going to be able to do it. She still couldn’t think of it without cringing. 

She had no way of knowing for sure, but she was starting to consider the possibility Snape was telling her the truth. What a risky game, though. To tell her the truth in front of Voldemort’s prying eyes hoping he would dismiss it all as a twisted way to gain her trust. It was damn near suicidal. 

Hermione took the two potions he left for her before she went back over the first chapter. She would have taken them as soon as he set them down in front of her, but doing so would have felt like a violation of her privacy in a way. Snape said he was going to see about getting rid of that horrible man, but he had also told her not to upset him. What did that mean? Did he have no faith in his ability to do so, or did he have no intention of even trying? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

After many fruitless attempts at levitating the bookmark, Hermione rubbed her tired eyes. The single light in the room was dim, far from ideal for reading. Hearing the doorknob turn, Hermione scurried over to the bed and threw the book under it in fear of losing it to whomever was about to enter her designated section of hell.


End file.
